


Perchance to Dream

by itsOblivious



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Angst, Blood and Gore, Dark, Gen, Horror, Nightmares, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-13 16:33:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16021748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsOblivious/pseuds/itsOblivious
Summary: Its been almost a year since Morty died and Rick's life has fallen into the mundane until, days before the anniversary of Morty's death, his nightmares start to take over his every waking moment.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick headed to the garage again, hoping he’d find something, some invention that could help explain what is going on without him having to leave the house to personally investigate. When he passed the stairs his eyes caught a shadow lingering at the top. He stopped, snapping his head to the side so fast he heard his neck crack. He half expected the shadow to be gone, but instead, the same inky figure from last night’s dream remained, wavering as if there was a breeze. The figure was a profound black, featureless, but Rick still met its eyes. The figure was small, relatively harmless looking despite its long claws, with big, glittery black eyes holding his stare.  
> The figure wavered and then retreated backward out of sight before Rick could even lift a foot to bound up the stairs. He reached the top of the steps to see the door to Summer’s room slip quietly shut. Rick slowly approaches the door, fear beginning to color his brain, slipping down his spine. What was he so afraid of anyway? He has his gun on him, stuffed into one of the many pockets in his coat. He pats his pockets to make sure that, yes, it was indeed there. Whatever this thing is, Rick, won’t give it a chance to hurt him.  
> ~

Rick’s been having nightmares.

At least, Rick thinks he’s having nightmares. 

Each morning he wakes up feeling more exhausted than when he fell asleep, a dull hum hovering in the air before fading away, forgotten. He can’t remember anything when he wakes, struggling to latch on to the muddy images of nonsense that fade the moment he opens his eyes. He feels only the dull throb of the hangover that had settled into his frame ages ago and the distinctive feeling that mirrored dread seated in his stomach. It’s been over a week of sleepless nights and he blames his overactive unconscious on the impending date. With the first anniversary of Morty’s death just around the corner, it’s not just Rick who has been affected. The whole family seems to be on edge, with Beth’s miserable mood staining even Jerry’s relentless optimism.

Rick doesn’t leave the garage much anymore, not even for off-planet excursions he used to be so fond of. He knows it’s pitiful, pouring all his energy into odd jobs he doesn’t want to finish. His endless worry over his daughter keeps him landlocked in the house, on guard in case she decides she wants to do something drastic. He learned his lesson the first few weeks after the funeral when he left without a word to fill the sudden void in his chest that Morty left. Beth's severe nervous breakdown lead her to nearly drink herself comatose and rack up a pricey hospital bill by the time Rick found it in himself to come home. He was almost not allowed to return upon learning the gravity of the situation, Summer and Jerry both blocking him at the door. It was Summer who cornered him and told him if he ever left again without a word she would make sure he never found the family again. The barely contained rage radiating off her face spoke volumes more than her words. 

Because of this, Rick mostly stuck to making gadgets for others nowadays, browsing intergalactic craigslist for ideas, materials, and soliciting his services where he thought appropriate. He had recently taken a commission of sorts from the idiot president because Morty wasn’t there to roast him about it. He feels dirty, not because he’s basically doing work for the president, but because he can’t remember the last time he showered, the gloomy tone of the week catching up with him in the form of a thin layer of sweat and grime stuck to his skin.

_Isn’t that pathetic._ But Rick can drink to pathetic. His ‘good shit’ stash was almost gone, his misery taking control of the flow of alcohol, though he is sure someone else has been dipping in his reserves. After downing his last bottle of Fjofan high level ‘tequila’ or whatever the Fjofan equivalent of tequila is, he stumbled up the stairs to the bathroom, intent on showering away his angst. His foot kicked the top step and sent Rick sprawling across the carpet, a loud string of profanity echoing down the hall.

“M-moth-motherfuck, stairs, the goddamn stair FUCK THE STAIRS,” he grumbled managing to get himself to his hands and knees when he noticed Summers door swing open further down the hall.

Messy red hair framed dark eyes that bore into his for a long moment before he tried to open his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted.

“Rick,” He knows he’s in trouble when Summer drops the affectionate Grandpa off of his name, “Its almost 4 am.” As if that means anything to Rick. He opens his mouth to say so but gets cut off again.

“Four nights in a row Grandpa Rick,” she says, worry creeping into her stern voice. When did she start to sound so much like Beth? “Start showering at a normal hour.” She doesn’t say what she wants to say by the way she falters for a moment and Rick hears her shut the door before crawling to the bathroom, free from the judgmental eyes of his now only grandchild. 

Rick kicks the door shut clumsily, not bothering to stand, before turning on the tap. He watched the water swirling down the drain before he turns away feeling dizzy. The room spins with Rick as he rolls on his back waiting for the water to heat up. The cold tile of the bathroom grounding him, soothing the relentless spinning.

“Stupid, sensitive Summer,” He grumbles angrily staring at the ceiling when a thought creeps its way into his head. _How the fuck did she know I was going to shower?_ For all she knew he could be going to take a shit, a nice 4 am shit. He didn’t shower last night, he stayed up late to work on this stupid shrink ray the president requested weeks ago. He remembers drinking himself silly after getting frustrated and passing out in the garage. The ache in his back from sleeping hunched over still lingers. He knows he didn’t shower last night. He feels grimy like he hasn’t showered in weeks, much less four nights in a row. 

The room fills with steam, pulling Rick from his thoughts and making him remember where he was.

_Shower_. Regardless of what Summer said, he needs a shower. Rick sits up and undresses, stripping off his various watches and layers of clothes and crawls gracelessly into the tub, the warm water, and hard liquor making him forget why he was so irritable in the first place.

He spends most of his shower with his eyes closed, missing the brief flicker of the lights overhead. 

Rick finishes his shower, barely drying off before throwing his clothes back on and frowning at his reflection. He feels ten years older and looks the part more so now than ever. He rolls his eyes and opens the door but the inky blackness of the hallway makes him stop short and slide his foot back into the light. Rick peeks out the door to the right, where the stairs should be. There’s no sign of the soft lamplight from downstairs. There’s no sign of the stairs at all, actually. He pats his pockets, feeling for his phone and finds only his flask, empty, and a pen, busted, and various screws all of which were useless. Even his portal gun was left abandoned in the garage. His remembered his watches, scattered on the floor and turned to find them, itching to use any tools hidden within. The bathroom floor, though, is free from Rick’s discarded technology. He thinks, fleetingly, that maybe he left them in the garage too. 

The light from the bathroom doesn’t do much to penetrate the solid darkness outside the door frame. If he tried to stumble his way through that he’d surely fall, and he’s had enough of that for tonight. He’s just going to have to wake someone up to help him, he decides.

“Summer!” He yells across the hall. He just knows she’s the one who turned all the lights off in the house in spite. After no response, he slams his fist on the wall, hoping to make his point. “Come ON Summer its f- its fucking dark, get me a light.”

Silence. Not even the sound of Beth and Jerry’s snores traveled down the hall.

_Fuck._ An emotion he doesn’t want to recognize begins to seep into his mind before he shuts the thought down. He’s being irrational. Somethings wrong but, there’s a simple explanation. An explanation that he can think of in the morning after he’s made it back down to the garage to sleep it off. After a quick glance towards the darkness that would be the stairs, he makes a decision. He doesn’t want to stumble blindly all the way down the stairs. He keeps a hand on the wall and instead walks in the opposite direction, heading towards the only room his drunken feet can find even in this darkness. It isn’t far, but the light from the bathroom is already useless by the time he arrives at Morty’s door.

The doorknob is cold when he grabs it, but the chill barely even registers, remembering just how long it’s been since he’s stood here. He gently pushes open the door and doesn’t hesitate to fumble for the light switch flipping it on. A staticky hum fills the air, quiet but loud in the still pervasive darkness. He tries again, knowing full well they won’t come on. _Is the power out?_ Rick thinks as he looks to where the window is. Darkness stares back at him. _No…_ Rick frowns, squinting into the darkness suspiciously. _Why the fuck is it so dark._ Rick puts his hands out hoping to find the desk. Maybe there’s a flashlight in there or a lighter or something, anything. He stumbles over a misplaced shoe and manages to catch himself on the corner of Morty's bed. His hand sinks into wet sheets.

“W-what the fuck,” Rick snatches his hand away from the bed and looks to his palm like he can actually see. Disgusted, he quickly wipes his hand on his lab coat. The unease Rick has been forcing to the back of his mind starts to creep back up his spine. His brain kicks into overdrive, desperately scrambling to find an answer to what was happening. The combination of strange events piling up in his drunken brain, leading him to the conclusion that someone was fucking with him.

He reaches out to the bed again when the soft sound of a door clicking shut interrupted his racing thoughts. 

“Summer! Beth? Jerry, I swear to fuck if you-” Rick turned around to see the shadow of something glide past the door. When he reached the door frame the figure was standing by the bathroom door, haloed by the light. Rick could see it was almost child shaped, scrawny, and pitch black. The space where its head is is surrounded by a fuzzy halo of shifting black mist while the rest of its body stood sharp-edged against the light. It was a type of darkness that moved and flowed like ink when its arm came up slowly and flicked out the only source of light. 

Rick immediately felt a fire in his throat, needles scratching their way into his chest. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. _Typical_ , he thought, before bolting upright, knocking the shrink ray across the table. _Wait what?_ He looked around, greedily taking in the bright lights of the morning sun hitting the wall. There’s a quick knock in the door, followed by Beth’s tired voice.

“Dad, if you’re there breakfast is ready.” 

He was awake. He was awake and it was a dream. He doesn’t remember how he got back down the stairs but then again, he doesn’t remember how he got up the stairs either. He couldn’t resist the siren call of his daughter’s breakfast though as the smell of her cooking drifted under the door. He groaned when he stood, stretching out the hangover as he walked to the door putting on a convincing smile for Beth. 

“Good morning sweetie,” He said giving her a quick hug, anything to get her to flash a smile. And it worked, briefly, until her eyes shot down to his chest. Mild repulsion crossed her face and she backed away.

“Dad...uh, do you need me to do some laundry for you?” Rick looked down at his clothes confused by Beth’s expression. On his chest was a bloody handprint, smeared unceremoniously across the white fabric, shining like a beacon in the night. The memory of soaked sheets enters into his mind and suddenly he isn’t hungry anymore.

“N-no sweetie, I-I-I got it,” He says pushing past her gently and heading straight up the stairs. Summers' eyes follow him from the dinner table, concerned, but not enough to speak up. Rick is at Morty’s door before he realizes and he hesitates, hand hovering over the doorknob. Cursing himself for being weak, he flings open the door, eyes instantly on the bed. The disheveled sheets, untouched for almost a year, were clean of blood. Definitely dry, dusty even. The window’s blinds were open, letting in the morning light. Rick’s chest felt tight again, seeing his room dusty and lifeless. He shut the door, turning on his heel to get the fuck out and nearly runs straight into Summer.

“Shit, Summer, what the-” Rick sighs, his shaking fingers balling into fists, “Don’t fucking sneak up on me like that!” His usually sharp senses rendered useless in his haste to leave.

“Jesus, Grandpa Rick, I was going to see what was up with you, but clearly, you’re in a mood.” Summer huffed before pulling out her phone to check the time, replying to a few messages while her phone was out. 

“I didn’t sneak up on you by the way,” she says after sliding her phone back into her pocket. “What are you doing in there?” She points to the door, “You know mom will freak out if you touch anything.”

Rick hums a neutral response and debates telling her anything, about the dream and his confusion. It’s the first time he has woken up and remembered the stark clarity of his dreams, now running a play by play in his mind. Especially as of late, where every day he woke up confused and disturbed by what his subconscious put him through, but never knowing what it was he experienced. Every explanation his brain tries to come up with leads him back to being too drunk to remember anything from the night before. _Actually..._ He does remember one thing Summer said last night. “Hey, how-how did you know I was going to shower last night.”

Summer narrows her eyes like she’s trying to see if Rick is being serious or not. “Grandpa Rick you’ve been showering really late for nearly a week straight. You just pass out in there, so, like, just start showering before midnight, please.” She sounds more and more exhausted the longer she speaks. “I’m not sleeping right lately and you crawling up the stairs shitfaced every night isn’t helping." She checks her phone again. “Look I’ve gotta go, I’ll see you later.”

Rick briefly wonders if anyone in the house is sleeping alright. Beth’s exhausted voice entered his thoughts and he remembers brushing her off earlier. He makes his way back down the stairs in time to catch both Beth and Jerry heading out the door. Jerry's making a name for himself in the data entry field these days, the asshole, leaving Rick alone in the house by the time they all filter out to work.

The house is hollow and like yesterday, and the day before, Rick has time to work on that stupid machine for the stupid president. He takes his time eating breakfast, staring out the dining room window in silence. The sun was out, with joggers and their dogs passing by as frequently as cars. _I should get out more,_ Rick thinks as he settles into the couch to watch TV sipping from his flask per usual. His unwillingness to work on the project kept him glued to the couch for some hours when a fog settled over his brain before he slipped into a comfortable doze. The few hours of sleep he did get catching up with him. _Just a quick nap_ , he thinks before letting sleep overtake him.

_“Rick!”_

Rick jerks awake, knocking his foot on the coffee table and looking around wildly for the origin of the voice. _It sounded like Morty,_ his brain whispers, before quickly shoving that thought away. Whoever it was sounded mad. Whoever it was sounded far away. He stood up and walked to the kitchen, thinking maybe Jerry was home early and needed comfort because he finally got fired. The kitchen is empty, silent, and bright in the morning sun. So is the dining room, the hallway, and Jerry’s office. The deafening silence of the house resonating that fact loud in Rick’s ears.

As Rick is passing the dining room window on his way to the garage his eyes catch on something outside. Specifically, how bright the outside is. The driveway pavement shining whiter that Rick remembers off to the right and straight ahead the lamppost across the street looked distinctly...fake. Fake is the only word he could use to describe the sharp edges of the round post. There was no shadow, despite the blinding light outside. Rick looked up to find the sun but everywhere he glanced felt like he was zeroed in on the bright star. The street was deserted, not so much as a squirrel skittered across the road.

He backed away from the window, bright spots and black dots clouding his vision. He checked the windows in every room downstairs which all yielded the same results; Bright sky, no shadows, unnatural edges on everything from trees to neighboring houses. He headed to the garage again, hoping he’d find something, some invention that could help explain what is going on without him having to leave the house to personally investigate. When he passed the stairs his eyes caught a shadow lingering at the top. He stopped, snapping his head to the side so fast he heard his neck crack. He half expected the shadow to be gone, but instead, the same inky figure from last night’s dream remained, wavering as if there was a breeze. The figure was a profound black, featureless, but Rick still met its eyes. The figure was small, relatively harmless looking despite its long claws, with big, glittery black eyes holding his stare.  
The figure wavered and then retreated backward out of sight before Rick could even lift a foot to bound up the stairs. He reached the top of the steps to see the door to Summer’s room slip quietly shut. Rick slowly approaches the door, fear beginning to color his brain, slipping down his spine. What was he so afraid of anyway? He has his gun on him, stuffed into one of the many pockets in his coat. He pats his pockets to make sure that, yes, it was indeed there. Whatever this thing is, Rick, won’t give it a chance to hurt him.

Rick flung open the door, one hand on his gun and ready to take out whatever was lurking around the house. The sight before him almost had him backing out of the room. Sitting on the edge of the bed was Summer, bloody tears streaming steadily down her face. The whole of her eyes so stained with blood her normally sky blue irises were lost. She was obviously distressed with one hand at her throat and the other knotting her fingers in her hair. Rick was at her side in three strides, kneeling down and pulling her hand away from her hair.

“Summer! Summer sweetie w-w-what happened,” concerned, Rick began to gently prod her for more injuries. He looked down and saw blood staining her thighs, he followed the trail up her legs until it became uncomfortable to look at, her shorts soaked to the point of dripping. Summer opened her mouth and thick dark blood bubbled past her lips. He barely made out the gurgled “Grandpa Rick?” his attention captured by the solid black figure now sitting directly behind Summer. Rick looked down to see one inky black hand wrapped around Summer’s middle, sharp claws squeezing her belly, and the other shoved disgracefully into her shorts.

Ricks brain couldn’t catch up. His hand lashed out to remove the offending hand in his granddaughter’s shorts, only to have his fingers slip uselessly through the figure. He reached for his gun hoping that his weak defense was enough to harm whatever this thing is.

“Grandpa Rick?” His eyes snapped up to Summers bloody ones, her mouth unmoving, but the echo of her trembling voice played in his head. 

“Rick!” The angry voice from earlier shouted, the noise settling heavy into his chest. The space between his ribs felt empty, filled only with the vibrations from the uncanny voice. The room before him seems to bleed away into blackness, the figure still standing out, darker than the scene around him. 

“Rick!” A shrill voice that can only belong to Summer rouses him from his deep sleep. Sleep…? Right, he took a nap on the couch after everyone left and its…

“W-what time is it?” Rick mumbles sitting up and patting his pockets for his phone, oblivious to Summer’s panic.

“Fuck the time, Grandpa Rick, what the fuck is up with these pictures you sent me?” Summer practically yells, shoving her phone into Ricks' face. He angrily slaps her hand away. 

“For- for your information, Summer,” he retorts, “I have been asleep since you left for school. I didn’t send you no damn pictures.”

Summer gives him an incredulous look before shoving her phone back in Ricks' face, “Well explain this then Grandpa Rick because it’s not funny.”

Rick snatches the phone from her trembling fingers and squints his eyes to focus on the screen. It’s a series of images, sent from Ricks contact. The first image immediately turns his blood cold, snapping him to focus. It’s a picture of him sleeping on the couch, the timestamp for the current date, 10:33 AM. He glances at Summer who’s tearful eyes makes him look back quickly. The next image, timestamped just ten minutes later shows Ricks back to the camera as he looks out the dining room window, the bright light from the outside reducing his form to a shadow. Rick gripped the phone tighter. The next image was a solid black screen. _Innocent enough_. Except the longer he looked at it the more unsettled he felt and suddenly the image is moving, slippery shadows threatening to bleed over into the white pixels. There is no timestamp or date with the image. He flipped to the last picture. It almost looked like a selfie, from the angle, but like all the others, were not taken by Rick. Ricks' face is contorted in an uncomfortable grimace, a distraught look in his eyes. The background was Summer’s room, the corner of her sheets bright against the pale of Ricks face.

Rick patted his pockets, frantically searching for his phone yet again. Glancing around the living room with no success Rick had a feeling that leads him straight to Summers room. The hollow feeling returned in his chest by the time he reached her door. Summer’s endless questions were a buzz in the background when he opened the door to see his phone sitting plainly in the middle of her bed. He picked up his phone gently, almost afraid of the device and unlocked it. He had a few texts from Summer panicking about what he sent. His messages don’t show he sent anything at all.

“Who took those pictures, Grandpa Rick,” Summer whispers behind him. He wishes he could give her an answer, but he swallows hard and finally turns to face her. His tired brain began working hard to backtrack his most recent dream if it could be called that.

“You said, earlier, you said you w-weren’t sleeping well?” He asked while glancing curiously around Summer’s room, hoping to find something out of place. _Maybe she’s been having some fucked up dreams too…_

“Who took the-”

“I don’t know who took the fucking pictures, Summer!” He yells, frustrated. “Something is wrong, something is in this fucking house messing with me, w-with us, and I-I'd love to figure it out. Now can you tell me why you aren’t sleeping well.” Rick is scrolling through the settings on his phone, turning on security features he hasn't had to use in a while.

Summer sniffles a little, forcing the tears back because she knows Rick doesn’t mean to be so combative. _He’s scared,_ she thinks, and knows he would never admit it. Everyone is on edge lately, she has to remind herself.

“Well I’ve been having nightmares, I think,” She starts and shifts feet a couple of times before continuing, “Well, it’s the same nightmare actually. The first time it happened was, like, a week ago I guess. They uh,” She pauses to blush deeply, “They start out as wet dreams.” Rick narrows his eyes, hoping his granddaughter isn’t losing sleep to rub one out. 

Summer must read his expression because she quickly continues, “But- but it's like…not good ya know? Like…it's like someone is touching me and it just hurts-”

“Rape doesn’t count as a wet dream Summer,” Rick interrupts.

“Whatever Rick! Whatever it is, it’s fucking hurting me and I can feel it, but it takes so long for me to wake up,” Her voice warbling at the memory of her nightmares, “And, like, suddenly, like, I’m bleeding. My eyes are bleeding and there’s blood coming out of my mouth and…” She trails off gesturing towards her crotch with a grimace.

Ricks stomach turned listening to her speak. He didn’t need his imagination to know what these dreams looked like. He saw the same sight just minutes earlier. Rick doesn’t want to explain to Summer his dreams, doesn’t want to have to describe the pitch black figure with its hands wrapped around her body. But she’s the only one who can even possibly help him. 

Rick is starting to form a plan when he sits down on Summer’s bed and pats the spot next to him, “Sit down kid we gotta talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a dark hallway and my nightmares
> 
> Don't be afraid of that character death tag. Morty doesn't stay dead for long :)


	2. Chapter 2

It was nearing midnight when Summer finally wandered downstairs to the garage, dragging along blankets and pillows through the doorway. After filling Summer in on what he knew, which wasn't much, Rick set to work. First, he fixed up his dream inceptor, after wasting a solid hour looking for it, buried deep in a box of things he had labeled ‘Morty’s Shit.’ This time he’d make sure a dream death didn’t mean a real demise. Then he called up Scary Terry to get some information about beings that travel or exist in dreams but didn’t really get anything useful out of him. At least, nothing Rick himself found useful. The nagging suspicion of the paranormal forcing him to dance around the issue.

“Now what you may have is demons or ghosts,” Scary Terry stated simply, “They’re pros at dream hunting. Demons have a real knack for it and-” Rick held back an audible groan. He doesn’t much believe in ghosts or demons, despite the demonic nature of Scary Terry himself. He drones on in the background about certain techniques used in nightmares when Rick gets bored.

“So, how do I figure out how to talk to it,” Rick cuts him off, suddenly uninterested with the conversation. _Ghosts aren’t real, demons aren’t real, ghouls and goblins aren’t fucking real._ He remembers many a night where he trapped Morty in the garage to tell him things like heaven and hell are just fairytales, good and evil are made up concepts and all that jazz. The response he got from Scary Terry though was cagey, passing off a warning to not initiate contact until you know what it is. It seems like he may not be as helpful as he thought. Rick made an excuse to get off the phone, telling his friend he would try his own methods first. His lack of experience in this situation told him he needed all the information he could get, but the analytical part of him just wanted more solid data.

Rick then decided to set up various little traps throughout the house, some with cameras that capture movement, some that record sound, some that shot out searing lasers, but that may not be necessary. Tiny cameras with thermal sensors were placed in every corner. Everything was linked to a backup computer in the sub-basement.  
Summer dropped her bundle of blankets and pillows on a nearby cot set by the door, never looking up from her phone. With her makeup washed off she looked more tired than ever, the bags below her eyes more prominent and her wet hair hung limply around one shoulder. She sat down on the cot gently, not trusting it to hold her weight at first. It wobbled on a short leg that popped with every move she made.

“Jeez, Grandpa Rick how am I supposed to sleep on this old thing anyway?” She shifted her weight around and tried to get comfortable on the aging cot.

“M-Morty never complained about it, it's fine,” Rick says offhandedly, sneering, still tinkering with the dream inceptor. “Just- just relax, ok, I know you’re tired.”

Summer glares at Rick’s back before settling down below the covers, shooting off a few more texts before getting comfortable. The lights of the garage were almost too bright so she threw an arm over her eyes and sighed. Hoping to relax to the subtle sounds of Ricks quiet tinkering, she cleared her mind and tried desperately not to think about the reason she’s here in the first place.

Over an hour passes before a soft snore is heard and Rick gives a wary glance over to Summer. He waits a few more minutes before sliding the small device into her ear and stepping back to the chair to settle in. _I hope this fucking works,_ he thinks before sliding the other piece into his ear and clicking it on. His head fell backward and everything dropped into easy darkness. It stayed like that for a while, the minutes slipping past before suddenly bright spots appeared in his vision. His attempts to blink them away shifted the space around him, the garage coming into view the more be batted his eyes. He reached up to feel for the device in his ear only to discover it was gone. 

He stood up and glanced around the garage, noting the accuracy of the scene around him. Everything was exactly the same as if it was the real thing. Tools and loose screws left precisely where Rick left them before falling asleep. He looked to the cot to find it empty, then noticed the door to the kitchen wide open. His footsteps seemed too loud as he stepped through the doorway, taking note of the deep endless darkness out the window. The only source of light was coming from a lamp in the living room, barely illuminating the area. Apprehensive, Rick flipped the light switch in the kitchen to no avail. The phone in his pocket was a welcome weight as he reached for it, switching on the flashlight successfully and continuing through the house. He quickly checked for the traps littered around the kitchen and living room to discover that they too were gone. Rick decided to skip a thorough inspection of the downstairs of the house, choosing instead to head straight to Summers room.

As he got close to Morty's door, Rick heard a low hum, not unlike an old television set left on a blank screen. The hum pulled him closer to the door, the sound rising in pitch the closer he got. He reached out and touched the door to find it like ice beneath his fingertips. _This isn’t what you’re here for,_ he thinks, but still reaches for the doorknob. It doesn’t budge, and holding on to it more than a few seconds makes his fingers feel like they’d freeze to the surface. He kicks the door angrily before backing away and staring hard as if that would break the seal.

 _Summer,_ he reminds himself, _you gotta find Summer_. He backs away from the door before turning back down the hall, the hum fading the further he moved. 

Inside Summer’s room he found exactly what he was looking for and more. The haunting figure was perched behind Summer again, just like before, except this time Summer wasn’t pouring blood from her face. Instead, the figure had one clawed hand wrapped gently around her throat while the other rested across her lap, tapping clawed fingers on her thighs. Summers panicked gaze begs for Ricks help, but she remains silent, squirming under the figure's grip.

Rick glowers at where the figure's eyes should be and he is startled to see a sharp white grin split across its face. Teeth, too many teeth, flashed in an unnatural light. Fear rears its ugly head again and Rick has to stop himself from reacting violently. He wants to drag the thing across the room, far far away from Summer. He wants to, but he knows he can’t. He wants to say something smart but doesn’t get the chance to speak.

“You’re breaking the rules, Rick,” the thing speaks, its voice distinctly familiar but completely foreign it the way it echos and whispers. It’s the same voice that was yelling at him the other night, he knows, but the uncanny resemblance to someone else gives him pause. There’s a strange disconnect in the sound around Rick when it speaks. Like the words themselves had been pulled through oil, staining the air. Whatever this was, it's not something Rick has encountered before. _Its more advanced than Scary Terry that's for sure._

Rick steels himself and stares down the creature, summoning his anger again enough for him to find his voice. 

“Let- fucking let her go,” he says taking a few cautious steps closer to the bed, closer to Summer, crying as quietly as she can.

"I'm not playing some game with y-you."

This is the closest he’s been to the thing and its setting off alarms all over his body, his calves twitching with adrenaline urging him to run. He can’t get over how particularly human it looks in the way it's shaped. If a human were a three-dimensional shadow and horribly frightening that is. The blurry haze that surrounded its face actually looked like hair, inky black wisps curling wildly around its head, waving in a breeze that wasn’t there. The solid black substance it was made of constantly shifting like eels in oil. Glittering eyes bore into his startling him from his examination. It was still smiling at him, the many pointed teeth reminding him that whatever this was it definitely wasn’t human. It smoothly flexed its hand around Summers' belly before speaking again.

"Actually, Rick, you are gonna play a game with me," the way it speaks leaves no room for discussion.

“And you can’t use your little gadgets on this one, Rick. You gotta use that brain you’re so proud of,” Rick snarls at its words. “But more importantly…” it trails off, its sinister grin turning into a suddenly frightening scowl.

“This isn’t a game you play together,” it says a bite in its voice as the once gentle fingers suddenly grip Summers' throat. There was no chance for movement, its claws dug deep into her throat and harshly pulled out whatever its gnarled black fingers had grabbed. There was no blood, no viscera that stained Summers body, only a dark mist that flowed out quickly overtaking the scene before him. Summer, though, still squirmed and thrashed, gasping for air through a new hole. It was the last thing Rick saw before bolting upright in his chair, Summers sobs filling the air around him.

She is gripping her throat desperately feeling for a wound that isn’t there but still lingers in her nerves. The need to verbally comfort her rises in his chest but the words get stuck in his throat. Instead of speaking he sinks to the floor wearily crawling over and settling himself on the cot. Summer takes the liberty to throw herself in Ricks lap, her sobs building up again. He rubs her back, awkwardly, his experience with comforting lacking and making itself known. He won't admit he feels guilty, using Summer as an experiment, but the emotion still worms its way into his bones.

From the corner of his eye he spots the dream inceptor on the pillow, charred and black. _So much for fixing that up._ Despite the obvious warning to not rely on technology, Rick was already listing devices to craft and more experiments to run. Rick can play his game, but he will always find a way to play by his own rules.


End file.
